Infini (Aerial Ethereal #2)(29)

I comb a hand through my hair. Trying not to picturing some new guy screaming at her to “run faster” or “push harder” while she’s already giving her all. I know Baylee. I know that she hates being called out in front of people, for any reason: negative or positive.

“He also told me to bulk down.” Dimitri glares. “I can do what I need to do at this size. I’ve done it for twenty-six years.”

“Did you hear that?” Zhen quips from one row over. “Dimitri Kotova was six-foot-five in the womb.”

Nikolai comes around the bend, rolled bandana wrapped around his forehead. “Did he have enough room in there for a double layout too?” he banters.

The rare time that I see my brother loosen up—it’s with Dimitri or his girlfriend, Thora.

Dimitri hooks an arm around Nikolai’s neck and purposefully wipes his sweat all over him.

I hate to ruin my brother’s good mood. I normally wouldn’t intentionally try, but I have to show him this. “Hey.” I approach both of them.

They break apart. Towering over me.

Nik’s face instantly becomes serious, tapping into his stern big brother side.

I flash them my email. “Okay?” I need them to not intervene if I talk to Baylee.

Dimitri just looks to my brother for how to react.

Nik hardly relaxes. “It’s safer if you try not to talk to her.” His gray eyes never soften.

I knew he’d tell me to stay responsible and be serious about what this means, but I’m not floating in some fantasy. I understand my fucked-up reality better than him. I’m the one living it.

“I just wanted you to know,” I say easily and return to my locker, zipping my phone in my bag. When I pass them to leave the room, Nik clasps my shoulder.

I wait for him to say something.

He struggles to speak. To say what he feels. Lowly, almost beneath his breath, he tells me, “Don’t hang yourself with the slack you’ve been given.”

“I won’t.”

“I know you, Luk.” He pauses. “I know that if someone gives you an inch, you’ll go five feet.”

“I won’t.” It’s all I can tell him. If he doesn’t believe me, then he doesn’t believe me. There’s not much else I can do. So I add, “I’m not a kid.”

“I know that.” He releases his clutch on me.

I don’t let Nikolai trounce the fraction of good news. I pocket it. I carry it, and what should be happiness transforms into apprehension. Concern.

What do I even say?

Will she even want to speak to me?

Does she even like me anymore?





Act Nine

Luka Kotova




The gym is crammed, and it’s not a typical gymnastics gymnasium. In the middle, Amour artists practice on a giant, intricate metal cube, teeterboard placed precariously beneath.

Timo effortlessly sprints across the metal rung that looks like adult jungle-gym bars. With a magnetic grin that ropes my gaze, he drops straight down.

And he grabs hold of a lower rung before hoisting his body into a handstand.

As I pass, it takes me a while to tear my attention off my brother. Other artists definitely have that issue, too. Staring. Gawking.

Wondering how the hell Timofei Kotova is so enthralling.

I pass another aerial apparatus. Scarlet silk is attached to the eighty-foot ceiling, and Nikolai clutches the fabric. His much shorter girlfriend already slices through the air, the silk intricately wound around her ankle.

Over in the far left, a trapeze is set up for Viva artists, mesh net secured underneath, and then I spot Kat towards one of the walls.

The Russian bar sits off to the side with our cousin Vitaly and a new guy who replaced my role in Viva. I used to be one of Katya’s porters. I held one end of a bar similar to a balance beam while she performed a difficult routine on top.

What I love and miss most is working with my sister.

I notice that she hasn’t started practicing yet. I don’t have time to chat, but I call out, “Kat!” I already begin to wave before she turns her head.

I frown.

Is she wearing…? She is.

Kat wears pink lipstick, bright and overdrawn, and her black mascara and thick eyeliner darkens her eyes. I almost question whether it’s stage makeup since it looks cartoonish, but no one else is wearing any. It has to be her choice. Still, she’s never worn makeup at practice before.

That’s not all.

She’s dressed in a tiny sports bra and spandex. No shirt. My frown deepens. There’s no way Nik saw her leave the suite.

Katya waves back like nothing’s different.

“Fuck—” I walk straight into Brenden’s drenched back, his shirt soaked through with sweat.

He shoots me a glare but says, “Zhen’s leading the cast in stretching.”

I nod, as tense as him. I try to push Katya out of my mind and take a seat on the blue mats. All fifty of us are situated in a jagged circle. A few cousins are between me and Sergei.

Zhen spreads his legs open and reaches forward.

We all follow suit, but I lift my head up.

Baylee.

She’s directly across from me, only the empty middle of the circle separating us. I sweep her features more rapidly than I want or intend. More used to dodging her than staring.